


Away With His Corpse

by ridoma (Diminuendo)



Category: Prince of Stride: Alternative (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Obsession, gorey-ish description (like two lines), this is also kinda fucked up wh oo ps, ye just fujiwara thinking about his obsession w riku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diminuendo/pseuds/ridoma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nana was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away With His Corpse

("Why would you just kill someone if you love them? Or stalk them like this or go to these measures. If you love them, don't you want to see them be happy?" Riku asked, reading the description.)

His hair spilled across the pillow like rays of sunlight. His hands, slightly curled, were lightly—almost delicately placed on his chest. Riku's long and skinny fingers were curled and shoulder was tilted slightly to the side, opening his body.

Takeru's fingers danced across Riku's collarbones and he felt the overwhelming desire to gently kiss them. He decided to do so and gently leaned over, brushing his lips over them. Takeru pulled back but for only a brief moment because then he decided to gently suck on Riku's neck, it wasn't enough for Riku to wake up but enough for Takeru to enjoy the taste of him.

Takeru always had an obsession with touching Riku. Whether a firm hold or a light skim across the legs, something pulled him to the other. It first started small, he would only do it to drag Riku, force him somewhere or push him. The complex grew when he felt the desire to kiss Riku and began sprouting thick thorns when Riku returned the feelings. Even though they had moments like these, to themselves (or to only Takeru).

Moments where Riku's shorts would ride up on soft thighs and pink skin would be peeking. Where Riku's body looked so delicate and soft and vulnerable but completely willing to Takeru's touches. Riku's neck would be shelter for Takeru's face and his thighs provided warmth to Takeru's hands. Riku also had the most beautiful hip bones Takeru ever saw, they protruded just a bit and the skin over them had a milky texture.

His nails made a path up to Riku's bottom lips and rested there. He gently pushed at Riku's pink lip, pushing his thumb in the small crack of Riku's lips and gave another kiss. He didn't understand why Riku's lips always made his sanity slant, perhaps it was the light pink tint or the dainty Cupid's bow, or even the faint smell of cherry at times. It was intoxicating, it made Takeru go mad and give him an overwhelming urge to just kiss the other. He wanted to kiss Riku before he died and kiss Riku as his soul went wherever but he wanted to kiss the other. One hundred times, one hundred times and more Takeru wanted to gently feel the soft and plump lips against his own.

("An obsessive love is also a passion," Takeru said.  
"Not a sustainable one," Nana replied.)

Takeru's face lingered closely and he breathed in and then pressed his face into Riku's neck once again. The scent, a pure natural scent not suited for a perfume, not a scent laced with testosterone but a scent so natural so strong and and yet gentle. It roused Takeru the most, Riku's natural scent. It reminded him of a baby lotion at times but other times he thought of butterflies with raindrops rolling down their delicate wings. It isn't the scent Riku had after playing intense sports or after training, it was the scent he had during when his chest was gently raising and falling. When Riku was reading, sleeping, intensely listening or enjoying Takeru's massage—it was there. Provocative, pure, a scent that begged for kisses but was contained in a metal box.

He wished stay with Riku forever, to never satisfy his desire like some beast thirsty for prey. Riku was his toxin and his cure. The soft hair, pink skin, tender lips, gentle moans were ingredients to the most potent and deadly alcohol and Takeru became drunk on it everyday. Everyday he clung to the concept of Riku and burned himself on Riku's dialect, skin charred and roasted enough to belong in Hell. If his obsession were ever to take form, it'd be a demon lurking shadows, bloodthirsty for blood and lungs. He'd probably get spat on by every saint and baptized by every sinner.

Takeru will one day chain his heart to Riku's wrists and hand the key off to the grips of lava and forever walk behind Riku. He'd cling and cling and devour and lose his breath as Riku's warmth slowly melts away his composure. He'd one day rip out his heart, bolted with thick metal and watch Riku drag it away. Blood and ripped pieces would collect on the ground as rough pavement chipped away at his former organ. Then Takeru would run after his heart, two long legs quickly making distance, two quick hands grabbing and the grotesque hole in his chest would absorb his heart and Riku.

("When it comes to love," Nana was saying. "It involves sacrifice. Your ego, your body and yourselves. If it's real, you have to cultivate but at the same time, you must let it die, in a way. You love the other yes, but you shouldn't let it distract you. There should be love but there should be health too. You can't just run on a complex, just like you can't be angry or vengeful all the time. There are times when you have to just become firm with your emotions, for a split second or maybe hours, to truly cultivate a stronger love. It's the reason why characters in book like these go wrong I guess, their love is more of an obsession rather than a passion." She took the book from Riku and set it down, "I'm sure it's nothing you have to worry about.")

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluff. Also I headcanon that Takeru likes placing his hands on Riku's thighs when they're cold shhhhhhhh


End file.
